


Blue Dahlia

by moveslikejaeger (believeinmycroft)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marco Is A Ghost, Talking To Dead People, but don't expect this to be sad guys, it's really fluffy, with a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:37:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/believeinmycroft/pseuds/moveslikejaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going off to art school and moving into a new apartment is supposed to be a fresh start for Jean Kirstein. Instead, it’s turning out to be a nightmare: an annoying landlord that seems determined to make his life hell, weird neighbours who keep him awake at all hours, teachers who won’t get off his back, and somehow, that’s not even the worst of it.<br/>Because there’s a ghost haunting his apartment, yes, an actual, real, undeniable, inexplicably nice ghost. And his name is Marco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_"I had a dream about you once, and I could barely see your form_    
 _Your black hair was like a raven with your tan skin on the beach_

_Where'd you get them scars?_   
_How blue is your heart?  
_ _Is it sad enough to break?_

_How long was your life?  
_ _Was it cold and strange like mine?"_

_\- from Blue Dahlia, by The Gaslight Anthem_

* * *

 

Until I was eighteen, I was under the blissful impression that ghosts didn’t exist. Sure, I heard scary stories every now and then, and occasionally I saw something that couldn't quite be explained logically, but as far I was concerned ghosts weren't real, and people who did believe in them were either insane, completely delusional, or a mix of both.

Back then, life was pretty simple (or at least, as simple as it can get for an incredibly average guy with no real goals in life apart from drawing shit and getting away from his OTT parents, I guess). I made my way through high school with as little effort as possible. I had a couple of friends. I spent my free time (but honestly, it was basically _all_ the time) drawing stuff in my scrapbook and avoiding homework. 

But then, I turned the big one-eight and decided to pack off to art school, despite whatever crap my parents talked about it. I even managed to get a cheap apartment near the campus in the process. It was supposed to be my big break – go to art school and pursue my passion, get away from my batshit insane parents, get a good job, finally start being an independent adult and start living my life, you know? But pretty soon, I learnt that life isn’t that easy, and it definitely doesn’t always go to plan.

And I realised that the summer I met Marco Bodt.


	2. Ghosts Aren't Real ... Are They?

‘Hey, Jean!’

I spun on my heel. Connie walked towards me, waving his free hand in the air as a greeting. His other was grasping the strap of his backpack, slung over one shoulder.

‘Hey man,’ I said when he got close enough to hear, shifting my weight onto one hip and cocking my head. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Ah, nothing much,’ he said, looking around at the street. ‘Just thought I’d drop by and see if you needed any help moving in.’

I shook my head. ‘Nah, this is my last box so not really, but thanks anyway.’ I turned and nodded towards the apartment building. ‘I’ll be finished in a minute if you wanna come up and get a drink. Sasha’s there already.’

Connie nodded, a crooked smile spreading across his face. ‘Sounds awesome.’

I turned and stepped inside the open doorway, glad for the shade from the hot sun outside, and began walking up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

It’d been a warm summer so far, with long burning days and humid, sweaty nights. It felt like a weird kind of paradise for me – my parents had been out of town on some holiday in France visiting relatives, and I’d had the house to myself for a few weeks, The days had alternated between aimlessly watching movies on the couch with the air conditioning on full blast, swimming laps in the pool, or sketching on a recliner near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that looked out onto the gardens. All in all, a great summer, and I couldn’t remember a time I’d been happier.

But then they had come back, and my illusion of paradise had crashed and burned along with whatever freedom I had. We were back to the same old rules, the same curfew, the same restrictions on when I had to get up and go to sleep and what I had to do during the day and constant talking about my future goals and college and my plans for life until I had had enough and I wanted to leave and never come back.

So I settled for the next best thing: art school, and an apartment of my own. They’d protested, sure, but in the end they couldn’t stop me, and they knew it.

By the time I made it to the fifth storey – my level – my shirt was clinging to my back by a thin sheen of sweat. I walked down the hallway and shouldered open the door to my apartment, setting down the box on the kitchen bench, Connie following me in.

‘You want anything to drink?’ I said, opening the fridge.

Connie looked up from where he’d already sat down on the couch next to Sasha. ‘I’ll just have a beer, thanks.’

Sasha rolled her eyes. ‘Really, Connie, so early in the morning?’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him blush. ‘What’s wrong with that? _You_ can’t talk, you eat like there’s no freaking tomorrow,’ he said defensively.

Sasha giggled and I rolled my eyes, getting out two beers from the fridge. Seriously, if those two hadn’t finally hooked up within the next month, I’d have to shoot myself in the foot. And yeah, that was actually a bet I’d made with Reiner, goddamnit. Not the best decision I’d made by far.  

I threw the beer to Connie, who caught it and kept on chatting to Sasha. I left them to their own personal world for a moment and wandered around to the kitchen bench where half of the boxes were stacked.

'So, how'd you get this apartment so cheap again, Jean?' Sasha asked me suddenly, her head tilted to the side as though feigning curiosity, but I knew for a fact that she just wanted me to repeat the story to freak out Connie. I sighed. 

'The landlord says that "weird stuff" has been happening in here for a while,' I said, making air quotes with my fingers. 'You know, odd noises in the middle of the night, funny smells, and a couple of people even said they heard voices.' 

'You mean,' Connie said, and the poor guy was trying so hard not to sound scared in front of Sasha, I could tell it, 'this place could be ... haunted?' 

I rolled my eyes. 'Yeah Connie, the place is haunted, or at least it would be if ghosts were even real!' I shook my head. 'Jesus Christ man, you gotta stop watching so many scary movies.' 

Connie flushed. ‘'Dude, that's not fair, at least I'm not the one who couldn't even watch five minutes of  _Insidious_ without squealing like a little girl-'

'For the last time, that movie has a lot of jump scares Connie, and I did  _not_ squeal like a little-'

'Both of you, shut up!' Sasha's voice cut through the room and immediately Connie and I shut our mouths. She looked back and forth between us, glaring. 'How about we just stop this conversation and agree that both of you are idiots for being scared of ghosts, or in Jean's case, scary movies, in the first place?' 

Both Connie and I opened our mouths to protest and she quickly lifted a hand to stop us. 'No objections.' 

I scowled and turned back to the kitchen bench. 'Ghosts aren't even real,' I muttered under my breath, and began plunging my hands into the cardboard boxes.  

* * *

Connie and Sasha left soon afterwards (of course, after I'd made them unpack a few boxes for me - they weren't getting off that easy.) A few hours later, once the apartment was up to some semblance of being at least half presentable, and my prized record player was set up on a small table near the far window, I flopped down onto the couch with another beer in my hand. Man, this was good. No parents to boss me around, no curfews, no rules, no nothing. I took a sip of my beer and looked around.  _I could get used to this,_ I thought,  _having this much space to myself._

The couch lay crooked, in the middle of what I guess I could call the living room, which was really nothing more than a large, open wood-panelled room with windows on one side looking out on a line of smoggy apartment buildings and a kitchen in one corner. To my right was a small hallway which led to a bedroom and a spare room which I was planning to use as for art, at least until I started running out of money and had to get a roommate. And to my left ...

I turned my head. There was another hallway there, almost a mirror image to the hallway on my right, except this one led to a bathroom at the end and a couple of small cupboards- 

I froze. The bathroom door was open. I sat up straight, not moving my eyes from the door. Yes, it was open slightly, just a crack, and I was  _absolutely fucking sure_ that I had closed it not ten minutes ago after unpacking some stuff in there.

I stood slowly, annoyed to find my legs trembling slightly. 'Goddamn it, Jean, get a grip on yourself,' I muttered. 'There has to be a rational explanation for this.' 

I walked slowly forward, my footsteps suddenly loud on the wooden floor.  _Oh shit, did I even lock the door?_ I turned back to the living room for a second and the floorboard creaked noisily. A noise came out of my mouth that resembled something halfway between a scream and a squeal, and I groaned when I realised the creaking had been me, slumping against the wall. 'For god's sakes, man,' I said, and with a sudden burst of courage strode forward and pushed open the bathroom door, to reveal-

Nothing. I peeked around inside, the coil of fear inside my chest vanishing as quickly as it appeared. There was nothing in the bathroom, no intruder, no ghost or demon, nothing. I looked up, to where my own pale reflection stared back at me in the mirror above the sink, and huffed. 

'You're an idiot,' I said to myself, turning away and shutting the door firmly behind me. Once I made sure it was closed I took a step forward, back towards the living room.

And then I heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and made me freeze to the spot: the creak of the bathroom door swinging open. 

Very slowly, with my heart pounding madly in my chest, I turned around.

'I'm not an idiot.' 

I stared, not believing my eyes. 

'I'm not an idiot,' repeated the pale, black-haired man standing in the middle of my bathroom. He looked around almost curiously, running a hand through his short hair. I noticed distantly that there was a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, but my thought process stopped as soon as he spoke again. 

'I  _am_  dead, I admit.' He scratched the back of his head and breathed a short laugh. 'But I'm not exactly sure how you could get those two confused, to be honest. My name’s Marco, by the way.' 

I blinked twice and nodded slowly. 'Yeah, that's uh, true, I guess,' I said, the words feeling thick in my mouth. And then (and I  _hate_ to admit this because Jean Kirstein never reacts in such a wussy way, I swear to God), I passed out, and the last thing I remembered before my vision went black was the pale man reaching for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hoped you liked it guys because this idea has been running around in my head for ages and I actually really enjoyed writing it. I have no idea if it's terrible or amazing or a mix of both, so if you've got any advice/thoughts on it please leave a comment because that would be a tremendous help :) 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon!


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